


We'll Make The Same Mistakes/Till The Morning Breaks

by betweentheheavesofstorm



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drunken Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21935623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betweentheheavesofstorm/pseuds/betweentheheavesofstorm
Summary: ‘Grantaire,’ Enjolras says, though the syllables blur together in a surprisingly good pronunciation of the French name. ‘Whadya doing here?’For the 2019 Les Mis Secret Santa exchange!
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 141





	We'll Make The Same Mistakes/Till The Morning Breaks

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Christmas to [much-ado-about-almost-everything!](https://much-ado-about-almost-everything.tumblr.com/)

Grantaire has never been the Mum Friend. The closest he’s come is the chill-but-emotionally-unavailable Older Brother Friend, and that was because Éponine _really_ needed a babysitter and was getting desperate and Gavroche’s way of passing the time was asking crazy invasive questions. Like was Grantaire gay (bi, not that the distinction seemed to matter to Gav), is he Éponine’s boyfriend (no), does he know how to play electric guitar (yes), will he teach Gavroche (maybe), and does he like that intense blond guy who’s always at their meetings (definitely not).

The thing is that he decided a while ago that he and Responsibility simply didn’t get along, and unless it was an Emergency he’d just rather not. Which by and large has served him well. He never gets called on to be designated driver or contribute to group meals or participate in Secret Santa. (He did, however, get the joy of watching Éponine try and figure out what to buy Combeferre. What the hell do you buy a vegan guy who knows everything and has complained enough about the commercialization of public holidays not to want a dumb novelty gift?)

It’s a good strategy.

(The answer, in Combeferre’s case, turned out to be a new reusable coffee cup, after he left his in the library and someone stole it. Grantaire’s never been so grateful for a random act of theft.)

There’s only one problem with the strategy, and he’s run into it a couple of times. The first being when Éponine dumped ‘Zelma and Gav on him, the second being right now, when he’s just discovered that the drunk guy at the bus stop next to him is Enjolras.

When you’ve crafted way too much of your lifestyle around never having to do anything proactive for others, the moment when you can’t avoid is also when you realise that you have absolutely no clue how to deal with it.

It wasn’t super obvious that the guy was Enjolras at first. He’d approached the bus stop with that telltale swaying step that spoke of several drinks too many, before staggering forward and leaning heavily against the post that displayed the different bus times.

Grantaire watched him with an indifferent pity. On the one hand, it clearly sucked to be this guy. He was five minutes away from throwing up on the curb. On the other hand, with that much alcohol in your bloodstream you probably wouldn’t feel cold at all.

Then the guy raises his head and his hood falls away from his face, revealing cheekbones and masses of golden curls and Grantaire has to do a mini double take and check what he’s seeing because that can’t possibly be _Enjolras._ Except it is, and that’s the Cambridge hoodie Courfeyrac bought him as a joke – Enjolras went to Oxford – and against his better judgement, Grantaire is hurrying forward.

‘Hey, man, you all right?’

Enjolras looks up at him blearily. There’s a bright pink lipstick smudge on his right cheek. Grantaire manfully ignores it.

‘Grantaire,’ Enjolras says, though the syllables blur together in a surprisingly good pronunciation of the French name. ‘Whadya doing here?’

‘I’m – whoa – on my way home from work. Here,’ and, deciding that this makes him worthy of sainthood, Grantaire guides Enjolras to sit under the bus shelter. No sooner has he sat down than Enjolras leans forward and vomits profusely.

Grantaire has the decency to look away. It’s extremely gross, there’s no way around that. When he’s fairly sure Enjolras is done, he makes them both scoot along to the other end of the bench.

The only good thing is that puking his guts up has apparently made Enjolras feel better. He’s looking slightly more alert and seems to have registered for the first time that it’s Grantaire sitting next to him.

‘Why didn’t you come to the meeting?’ he manages. It’s even fairly articulate.

Grantaire shifts. ‘Last week? I was busy.’

Enjolras grunts. Grantaire’s surprised that he bothered to ask. It’s hardly a secret that Grantaire’s little more than a nuisance at ABC meetings. He brings very little to the collective, beyond sarcastic interjections and the odd bouncy ball.

‘Were you out with people?’ Grantaire asks, feeling that it’s probably best to move the conversation on. Plus he’s keen to know how _Enjolras_ of all people has ended up in such a messy situation. Maybe he was on a date. Grantaire holds onto the idea masochistically. Enjolras could be on the way back from a wild hookup or something. That’s where the lipstick mark comes in. And, while Enjolras definitely isn’t the kind of person to leap into bed with no provocation, with this much alcohol who knows?

‘Yeah,’ Enjolras says, but doesn’t elaborate.

Grantaire is about to make a tactical comment about how much it sucks that whoever he was out with abandoned him, but sees the bus coming and has to change tack quickly.

‘Are you going to be okay getting home?’ he asks, getting to his feet.

Enjolras nods vigorously and attempts to follow suit. Rather than going upwards, he lurches sideways and ends up losing his balance again. Grantaire has to grab him to stop him falling. Enjolras is a good foot taller, but Grantaire’s stocky frame is strong enough to keep them both vertical.

‘I’m fine,’ Enjolras insists, attempting to untangle himself. This time he manages to stay upright without any help, but it’s clear that anything much harder than that is going to be a problem.

Grantaire thinks about how long it’s going to be before he’s able to get to bed and go to sleep – and to his immense surprise, comes to a decent decision.

‘I’m taking you home,’ he says. The bus is pulling up now; even if they’re going to Enjolras’s flat they can still get this one. Grantaire remembers where it is. He’s been there exactly once, to drop off some flyers. He wouldn’t normally be caught dead doing something that responsible, but Feuilly’s difficult to say no to and he was more than a bit curious to see where Enjolras lived.

‘I’m fine,’ Enjolras says again. ‘I don’t need _you_ …taking care of me.’

‘Come on. Onto the bus,’ Grantaire says, ignoring him.

It takes Enjolras five minutes to find his bus pass, but then they’re onboard and walking down to the seats at the back. It’s almost empty and anyway, everyone is too tired to pay them any attention.

‘Really, I’m good,’ Enjolras says, once they’re sitting. ‘I don’t want to cause trouble. Ruin your night.’

‘If I leave you now I’ll be left wondering if you’ve keeled over in the street somewhere,’ Grantaire tells him, not untruthfully. ‘What if you choke on your own vomit and die? You know it’ll take less than a month before I corrupt the ABC without your steadfast leadership.’

‘I’m not the leader,’ Enjolras says, though he doesn’t contradict the notion that he alone stands between Grantaire and his ideals of turning the community collective into a wrestling group. Really, it does the others a disservice. He’d need to eliminate Feuilly and Combeferre before making any significant ground. The others could all be talked round. Bahorel is backing the idea already.

‘Right,’ Grantaire says.

‘I’m _not._ It’s a collective. The whole point is- ’

‘That there’s no leader. I do know, you say it at least once every meeting.’

Enjolras frowns. ‘Didn’t think you paid attention.’

Grantaire shrugs. It’s true that half the time he tunes out what Enjolras is saying, mostly because whatever it is doesn’t really matter. It’s enough just to watch him, burning with a glorious intensity that Grantaire’s never felt about _anything_. With all the ABC it’s encouraging to see how much they care about stuff, but with Enjolras it’s on a whole other level. It’s like he’s a lightning conductor, or maybe he’s the lightning and Grantaire is a very unfortunate tree.

‘I don’t go for the vegan snacks,’ he points out. And then, because he needs to give a reason, plus he’s contractually obliged to be a dick all hours of the day, he adds, ‘If you gotta know, I’m in love with Bossuet. I just know sooner or later I can convince him to leave ‘Chetta and Joly.’

‘Bossuet?’

Oh God, Enjolras thinks he’s serious. Well, that’s not the worst part of the evening.

‘Are you kidding? Dude is like a model,’ he says, because while Bossuet’s certainly not bad-looking it’s just an objective fact that Enjolras is the most beautiful person anyone has ever met. It’s been openly acknowledged enough times that Grantaire knows he’s not the only one to have noticed.

‘But he’s happy,’ Enjolras says. Focusing on the conversation is clearly taking an immense effort. ‘You shouldn’t get in the way.’

‘Couldn’t if I tried.’ Grantaire shouldn’t have raised the subject of his love life. Granted, Enjolras is unlikely to remember much of this in the morning, but it’s best if at least one of them emerges from this debacle with their dignity intact.

Neither of them says anything for the rest of the journey. It’s not that far and Enjolras has taken to staring out of the window. He’s pretty much oblivious to the rest of the bus, which gives Grantaire free rein to have a proper look at him.

He’s not dressed for a night out, which is the weirdest thing. Just a regular pair of jeans and that Cambridge hoodie. No one wears that on a date. Unless – Grantaire’s stomach lurches – he was seeing someone he was already so familiar with that there was no need to dress up. Except, no, that still wouldn’t explain the drunkenness and the aloneness.

Enjolras’s balance is much better on their way off the bus. He even takes a moment to thank the bus driver, even though he says it far too loudly. Grantaire smiles apologetically at the man and, his hand on Enjolras’s bicep, leads him from the vehicle.

‘Why are you being nice?’ Enjolras asks, as they walk up to his block of flats. He lives on the fifth floor; Grantaire hopes fervently that the lift will be working. ‘You’re never nice.’

‘That’s not true. I told Courfeyrac his cowboy boots looked good.’

‘Not what I mean. You’re taking me home. That’s nice.’

‘I won’t make a habit of it.’

They step into the lift. Grantaire presses the button for the fifth floor and the doors close.

‘No, you should. I like nice Grantaire.’ Enjolras almost seems to be talking to himself now. ‘I like not-nice Grantaire too, but I don’t know why.’

Jesus, what does anyone say to that?

‘Cool,’ Grantaire says. ‘You’re alright, too.’

‘No, I need to explain.’ Enjolras is a stubborn person at the best of times, but now that’s reinforced by the confident obstinacy of the drunk. ‘It’s like you _want_ to be thought of as annoying. I’ve given you so many chances to do stuff for the ABC and be included and you never do. Courf thinks I should give up but I can’t do that and I _don’t know why_.’

The lift doors open. Grantaire takes a breath, does his best to ignore whatever that confession was about. Is Enjolras angry with himself for not getting everyone in the group to contribute democratically? That would be on-brand but, like, super depressing.

‘Come on,’ he says, for what feels like the hundredth time that evening. The sooner he gets this over with the sooner he can get to bed and stop being a responsible person who takes care of his friends.

Enjolras perks up once they get to his flat. He takes so long to find his keys that Grantaire worries he’s forgotten them, only to discover them in the main pocket of his hoodie. Then they’re inside and turning the lights on and despite his overwhelming desire to leave, Grantaire can’t help noticing how much he likes this flat.

The place itself is fairly shitty, but that’s just a given with this housing market. What makes it good is how _Enjolras_ the decoration is. The living/kitchen area has protest banners hanging on the wall like tapestries and the ageing furniture is covered with things he’s bought from his friends. Even the quickest glance reveals Jehan’s crochet _and_ Bahorel’s knitting, Cosette’s bunting and one of Feuilly’s fans mounted on the wall. He’s managed to cram all of the ABC in – everyone, Grantaire realises, apart from him.

Well, that’s to be expected. He doesn’t really have any craft skills to offer and it’s not like he and Enjolras are buddies anyway. Their relationship is simple: Grantaire deals with being hopelessly in love with him by being as irritating as he can. That way no one suspects his feelings and he can pretend he’s too irritating for Enjolras to reciprocate. Everything works out fine that way. Tonight is just a bizarre blip on that radar and hopefully by the morning Enjolras will have forgotten all of it.

‘I’m gonna go now,’ he says. ‘You going to be all right?’

Enjolras nods. For all his oversharing, his motor skills have improved dramatically over the course of the journey. It’s safe to assume he will actually make it to bed and not pass out in a puddle of vomit. ‘Yeah. Thanks.’

Grantaire looks round the room, taps his front jeans pocket to make sure _his_ keys are there, and nods. ‘OK. See you at the next meeting, I guess.’

Even though the prospect of staying and making awkward conversation is horrifying, it still takes an effort to leave the light and warmth of the flat for the chilly hallway. Grantaire makes himself walk quickly, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets.

On his way down in the lift, he can’t help but think of what Enjolras had said about wanting to include him. What were his words? That he didn’t know why he made such an effort? Grantaire can’t tell if it was an exasperated insult or an admission of something else.

Not that it matters. The flat he shares with Bossuet is only a ten minute walk from here – it would take two minutes on the bus, but he can’t be arsed to wait for one – and there’s still some of that bean stew in the fridge and then he can _go to bed_.

Grantaire wakes up to seven texts. Five are from Enjolras, one from Courfeyrac and one from Combeferre. He looks at the message previews for a few seconds before shutting his eyes and sending a prayer out to whatever universe entities decided to curse him.

Then he opens them.

Combeferre: _Hi Grantaire, I got quite a confusing text from Enjolras last night – did you walk him home? Is he ok? C_

Courfeyrac: _yooo is enj ok? He texted ferre sounding SUPER out of it and said something about you??_

This is perfect. Before noon all the ABC will know that Grantaire Did A Good Thing and they’ll be expecting him to contribute to bake sales. Even worse, maybe they’ll ask him why he made an exception for their fearless leader. No doubt they’ll realise that Grantaire can’t refuse Enjolras anything that’s actually serious and then he’ll have to leave the ABC and become an Icelandic sheepherder or something.

The texts from Enjolras form a clearer sequence, two from last night:

_thabks for walknig me home_

_did you get home okk???? Dnt want yuo to die haha_

And three from this morning:

_Hi, really sorry about last night. Thanks again for walking me home._

_Actually, can we talk? I think I said a few things and I’d really like a chance to explain myself._

_I’m gonna be at the Musain all day finishing the screen prints if you have any time spare? Sorry, I know this is really inconvenient but I think it’s best if we talk_.

Iceland is meant to be nice, Grantaire thinks as he gets up without responding to any of them. He’s not really sure if wool or mutton are major industries there, but it sounds like somewhere that would have sheep.

He’s vaguely more human feeling after breakfast, so plucks up the courage to reply to Enjolras. He has to say yes, because otherwise Enjolras is only going to bug him. Better to get it over with and go back to hiding his pining with unreasonable behaviour. Plus if he’s obnoxious this afternoon, then Enjolras won’t have to feel guilty for imposing on his evening, and if there’s one thing Grantaire cannot deal with it’s a guilty and repentant Enjolras.

He only has a couple of things to get done in the morning – it is a day off, hallelujah – and then he’s walking off to the Musain, hands resolutely jammed in his pockets once more. This will no doubt be dreadful, but then it will be over. This evening he, Joly and Bossuet will watch the DVD of Bossuet’s secondary school musical (they did _Cats_ , to Grantaire’s trepidation and delight) that Joly found last week and have a grand old time.

When he gets to the Musain, Enjolras is busily occupied in the back room that serves as meeting place, craft workshop and on more than one occasion flash mob rehearsal space. Despite all of that it’s not a very big room. Today it’s filled with t-shirts and paint.

Grantaire ought not to be surprised. Enjolras said in the text that he was screen-printing and it’s Grantaire’s fault for not putting two and two together. They’ve been planning these t-shirts for ages; everyone kept pitching in with wildly clashing design ideas and then arguing over where to source the material. Grantaire stopped listening fairly early on in the saga, though he distinctly remembers his vote going to Bahorel’s design, which featured a thematically irrelevant and badly drawn dinosaur.

‘Hi,’ he says, as Enjolras seems absorbed in his task.

Enjolras jumps very slightly, getting paint all over his hand. ‘Oh. Hi.’

There’s an awkward pause.

‘Those are the t-shirts, then,’ Grantaire says. The design is upside-down from where he’s standing, but he can’t see a dinosaur. Someone else’s idea must have prevailed.

‘Yeah.’ Enjolras surveys them. ‘I hope yours fits; you didn’t tell Combeferre what size.’

‘Oh. Sorry.’ He didn’t realise that they would still make him one. Strikingly optimistic, really, for them to expect him to wear it.

The silence stretches out again. Grantaire would really like one of them to say something, but he’s not the one who wanted to talk, so he doesn’t see why it should be him.

Enjolras looks down at the shirt he’s working on, then clears his throat.

‘Thanks for coming.’

‘Yeah, well. Had to make sure you’d survived and all that.’

Enjolras winces. Wrong thing to say.

‘I’m really sorry about last night,’ he begins. ‘I’m not normally – I don’t normally do that.’

‘S’okay. I don’t either.’

‘It was good of you. I know I was a bit of a mess and it’s unfair to put that on people, so, yeah, thank you.’

Grantaire shrugs. ‘Anyone would’ve done it.’

‘Yeah, but you did. And I think I said some embarrassing things and I’d like to apologise for those too.’

‘It’s cool. You rambled about how you were fine and complained that I never joined in anything. It wasn’t a lot different from you sober, really.’

Enjolras stares at him. ‘I only remember bits,’ he says, ‘but I didn’t – I wasn’t having a _go_ at you.’

‘I couldn’t really tell what you were doing. But like I said, it’s cool.’ He gets an idea. ‘Look, I reserve the right to call on you for some random favour in the future, okay? Then we’re even and it’s fine.’

Enjolras is still doing the staring thing. ‘You’re okay with it? I didn’t think you liked me much and that’s, like, a lot of information to suddenly dump on someone.’

Grantaire frowns. ‘I think we’re talking about different things.’

‘What are _you_ talking about?’

‘I mean, you were kind of bummed out that I didn’t want to make friendship bracelets for the ABC? Was that actually subtext for you kicking me out? I _can_ make friendship bracelets, I just don’t wanna.’

‘Okay,’ Enjolras says, very slowly. ‘If that’s all – then that’s fine. You’re good.’

‘No, hold on.’ He should let this go and walk away, but fuck that. He was promised an explanation, he might as well get it. ‘What did you think happened?’

‘I thought,’ Enjolras says, looking at the ground, ‘it’s dumb, so my apologies in advance, but yeah, I was really drunk and feeling all kinds of emotions and I thought I told you how I feel. About you.’ On the last words, he drags his eyes up to meet Grantaire’s. His expression is nervous, but resolute.

‘Wait a second,’ the cogs in Grantaire’s brain are turning very slowly, but they are turning. ‘All that shit about trying to give me a chance – _were you hitting on me?’_

‘I thought you realised,’ Enjolras says. Impressively, he’s keeping the eye contact. In his place Grantaire definitely would have looked away by now. ‘You left pretty quickly.’

‘Well yeah, it would have been weird to stay and tuck you in.’

‘It wasn’t really hitting on you,’ Enjolras clarifies. ‘More like, I don’t know, some kind of drunk and pathetic confession? Anyway, it’s fine, we don’t have to talk about it, I’m sorry and I get it if you want some space.’

Enjolras likes him. Enjolras’s attempts to get Grantaire doing things in the ABC is not motivated by teamwork but because he, Enjolras, would like Grantaire to be included.

‘You like me,’ Grantaire says. The cogs are turning slightly faster now.

‘Yes.’ And now Enjolras looks down. ‘That’s what I meant, it’s a lot to put on someone. But after last night I thought you deserved to know.’

Grantaire takes a minute to think. That’s impressive for him, he normally blunders in first and thinks later, but it’s important that he gets this right.

‘You’re right,’ he says. ‘I don’t think we should talk about it.’

Some of the tension runs out of Enjolras’s body. His nerves have clearly given way to misery.

Grantaire can’t wait any longer than that. He crosses the room, dodging paint tins, grabs hold of the front of Enjolras’s shirt and tugs him down so he can reach his mouth.

‘Oh, you _shit!’_ Enjolras exclaims, pulling away from the kiss to glare at him. ‘That’s what you meant by no talking? _You absolute shit_ – ’ He pauses for breath, and then, thinking better of whatever he was going to say, pulls Grantaire in for a second kiss.

This time it’s a lot longer before they separate.

‘You like me,’ Enjolras says finally. His paint-covered hand is resting on the base of Grantaire’s neck. The paint is already going everywhere.

‘Well, duh. I know I like fucking with you but not _this_ much.’

‘You could have said something,’ the accusatory tone has crept back into his voice. ‘You let me think …’

‘And then I put you out of your misery,’ Grantaire reminds him. ‘So really, it’s fine.’

‘All this time, then, why have you been so – ’

‘Annoying?’

‘Confrontational.’

‘Um. Well.’ Dear Lord, this is going to sound really stupid. ‘It got your attention. And, well, I thought if you already didn’t like me, you might as well not-like me on my own terms, ya know? Plus it was really, _really_ fun.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘I didn’t say it was a smart plan.’

Enjolras looks away, snorting and smiling at the same time. It’s oddly endearing.

‘Wait, I’ve got a question,’ Grantaire says. ‘What _were_ you doing last night? If Courfeyrac and Combeferre didn’t know where you were …’

It’s Enjolras’s turn to look flustered. ‘That was stupid, too. I was upset and stressed about stuff and Cosette said she and Éponine were going for a drink and did I want to come. I was in town anyway so thought why not, but when I got there it felt very third-wheeley so I went off by myself and had another drink.’

‘You weren’t that pissed from _two_ drinks.’

‘A girl bought me a couple,’ Enjolras admits. ‘She just kind of showed up at my elbow and started chatting. She seemed kind of interested in the ABC so we talked for a while and then some of her friends got there and I felt awkward so I left to go home.’

‘You had lipstick on your face,’ Grantaire says. He’s quite close to laughing, because now in the light of day the previous night is just funny. ‘I really don’t think ABC membership was what she was after.’

‘Not everyone shows their affection by mocking every thing I do.’

‘I don’t mock _everything_. That time you brought doughnuts I was extremely supportive of your leadership.’

Enjolras smiles again, that same soft goofy smile that Grantaire would like tattooed on the inside of his eyelids. ‘Don’t think that just because _this_ is happening doesn’t mean I’m going to let you get away with your bullshit.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’ Grantaire grins. He looks round the room again; most of the t-shirts are already done and spread on chairs to dry. ‘So, which one is mine?’


End file.
